Claims
by Felandris09
Summary: Cullen and Trevelyan fight. Their way. Caution: Rough-ish sex and light dom/sub.


"You can't be serious!" Incredulous surprise raises her voice a tone or two.

Cullen's fist clenches at his side. His eyes narrow. "I'm as serious as the Marquis was when he asked you to join him for dinner-," she flinches at the mock accent, " _just you and me, Inquisiteur_." Full lips tighten into a thin, pale line before he continues. "An invitation you have yet to decline."

Trevelyan's mouth hangs open and she shakes her head, words lost as Cullen's anger unleashes upon her. It burst out of nowhere- the stern look, asking her to his office after the meeting, and now this tirade. She's never seen him like this, not even with the laziest of recruits. A host of possible, insufficient explanations flicker through her mind - the heat, the stress, the fine wine at lunch. All seem far too trite to justify this.

And he's not finished.

"That bastard even had the audacity of touching your backside." The words come as a snarl, low and menacing.

"He _didn't_!" A shrill affirmation in futile defence. While their guest may have been rather lecherous, his hand had rested at the small of her back.

Cullen remains unfazed. "He was about to. And I didn't see you stop him, either."

"I was trying to play the _Game_!" She's almost shouting now as shock becomes hurt and the sudden need to explain herself.

All that earns her is a snort, an unmistakable token of his absolute disrespect for this form of politics. "By letting people grope you? For a donation?" He closes in on her, invading her space until she's pressed against the cold stone wall. The usual warmth is gone from his honey eyes, leaving them a stern copper as they bore into hers. His scent engulfs her- leather, soap and musk, mixed with the dusty aroma of countless books on the shelf to her left. Whereas she normally wants to absorb every note of Cullen's smell, she'd like to escape it now. Especially as he continues in a dangerous whisper, a spiteful growl.

"Tell me, _Inquisitor_." His use of her title tends to be playful and flirtatious. Today he spits it out. "What else are you willing to do? How far will you go for those generous _contributions_?"

Again words evade her at the utter insult. A knot tightens in her throat, and she fights to hold in the tears now welling up. She's lost, clueless as to why Cullen suddenly is so bitterly enraged, so cruel in his jealousy.

And finally he, too, seems to realise he's gone too far. He hesitates at the shimmer in her eyes, and his expression softens a fraction.

It's this sudden change, that misplaced, overdue sympathy that turns Trevelyan's hurt into anger of her own.

Bubbling up inside her, it surges through her stomach, her torso, cumulating in a hot flush on her cheeks and a tremble of her bottom lip.

Her shoulders hunch, her eyes thin into threatening slits and a slow, audible breath passes through clenched teeth. The brief, cautious flash in his eyes bears mild satisfaction, but it's nowhere near enough. She'd love to slap him right across his gorgeous, outrageous face; wants to smack the presumption out of him.

But she doesn't. If she has learned anything in her pathetic attempts at diplomacy, it's the ounce of control she summons from somewhere deep within herself.

A second, two, three pass without any motion. The air grows thick with tension.

Then she surprises herself when she's on her toes and her lips slant across his, prying them open. There's no patience, no tenderness, just a rush of fury, wounded feelings, and a longing for dominance.

Cullen is as taken aback as she, and she uses his momentary lack of attention to gain some much-needed control. Flipping their positions, she shoves him into the wall, swallowing his gasp with another probing, drowning kiss.

Rage and hurt are fuelling her, making her tongue force his out, her hands claw at his chest and her pelvis roll into his. Cullen begins to respond, though his movements are slow, heavy with bad conscience. She can sense his regret, the shame in his motions, his noises, in the way he avoids her eyes. It gives her a faint feeling of righteousness.

Neither of them know quite what they're doing, or why. And neither care. Irate confusion gives way to aggressive, unashamed lust. Teeth click, hips meet, lips are bitten as they grope and grind.

Pieces of heavy armour clank onto the floor, and Cullen sheds his boots, standing just in his clothes.

His body heat, his hard torso and soft skin are hypnotic as ever, and their strange, unfamiliar predicament only stokes the flame deep in her belly. She's already warm and moist, plagued by an insistent throb, nipples straining against their cotton confines. Her state doesn't go unnoticed, and soon large palms graze over taut peaks in delicious little circles. But she's not ready to give up control, wants to leave him wallowing in well-deserved guilt a bit longer. Suck any remainder of that foolish jealousy out of him. _Literally._

Trevelyan makes her way down Cullen's body, mindlessly ripping open buttons, nibbling and biting at his chest, ribs and hipbones. He trembles under her touch, winces at the scrape of her nails, bucks into her. When his belt snaps open and the remaining layers sink down, his erection bobs out with such force it almost hits her across the face. She grins, smug pride blending with desire.

When she moves in, the smooth hardness and heavy musk are no less appetising than before. She wets her lips, eyes darting up as she takes him in.

He fills her mouth, heavy and wide, and his face contorts with the sudden onslaught of pleasure so intense it almost hurts. She sucks at him in earnest, determined to bring him to a blinding, remorseful climax. Slurping at the thick head, running her tongue down his erection, she delights in the cautious affection as he pats her hair, in how he barely dares to moan. The power she exercises at this moment is leaving her dizzy. His need feeds her want, makes her slicker, greedier. But she's got more anger to take out on him.

Looking him straight in the eye, she gives a lick along the tender slit before she speaks. "Do you think I'd do _that_ for a donation?" Cullen flinches, and she carries on, tightening her lips around him in time with her pumps. Another few bobs of her head, and she takes it up a notch, eager to see how far she can push him. The half-hearted allusion to their past indulgences bears a stubbornness she feels perfectly entitled to.

"Maybe you'd like to _watch_?"

And that makes him snap.

Trevelyan yelps in surprise as his length plops from her mouth when she's pulled up. Cullen's grip is firm, his growl dark as he pushes her towards his desk. The six, maybe eight steps are quick, but they pass in a trance, a soundless haze. Cullen's breath burns hot on her skin. Trevelyan notices the gleam in his eyes, the familiar smirk as his body drives hers backwards. _He's enjoying having the upper hand_ _._

Cullen cocks an eyebrow as his free arm sends paper, quills and glassware tumbling, crashing onto the floor. The almost nostalgic parallel to their first time making love isn't lost on either of them.

In that instant a look passes between them, a silent acknowledgement that under all this rage lies something worth preserving, worth building upon.

But then she's crawling backwards onto Cullen's desk, holding his stare, teeth worrying her bottom lip as she tries not to let lust win out over resolve.

Her blouse comes off, buttons flying, and her skirt and smalls are yanked down. Cullen doesn't join her yet, withholds his touch while his eyes roam across her. Every minute detail of her body is taken in- the wild beating of the artery at her neck, the way her index finger is rolling up strands of hair; her hairless mound; the dark rose tint of her peaks, puckered and stiff. His scar twitches, and he gives himself a few absentminded strokes as he inspects her. Trevelyan's cunt throbs.

When he's on her, the force of his weight pushes the air from her lungs. He kisses her first, plays with her long tresses as he bites her bottom lip. Then he trails down her neck, grazing her hammering pulse point before his lips ghost over her _wrist_ , evoking a surprised moan. He does it again, and she shivers.

They're still fighting for dominance, but for now Cullen is winning. She's letting him have his way.

Rough fingertips trace the shape of her breasts, warm palms squeeze them together, lips circle in. Then his tongue comes in, stroking around the pebbly wreath, again and again, then on the other side, ignoring the rigid bud at the centre begging for touch. His caresses hold the same wonder and adoration he always shows her bosom. This time, though, he lingers that little longer, and his pace is just slow enough to be agonising, making her push up into his touch, asking more of him.

At last he pays heed to a neglected nipple, sucks it in so quick, so deep that she gasps. The already-hard peak stays between his lips for a while, is swirled around his tongue, his teeth, his _gums_. When he lets go it's pulled long, glistening and impossibly stiff. He leaves her no time before latching on to its twin, and when he's done she's breathless, melted.

As he advances down her torso, his hands find her buttocks as he nips at her navel then her upper thigh. She's writhing now, each contact evoking a gasp, a sigh, a stifled moan.

When his touch leaves her she lifts her head to see him staring right at her. He's broad, imposing as he hovers over her aching quim, chest rising high and falling slowly. She recognises the glint in his eyes, the possessive shimmer over his lust-blown pupils. It lays an unspoken claim on her, dares anyone to ever get between them. And deep down she knows she'd never let that happen. Despite the ire still coiling in her stomach that glance resonates with her, makes her arch higher, spread wider, offer herself.

Cullen's long lashes move in a slow blink, allowing a moment's respite before his tongue dives right in.

Trevelyan yelps as the supple muscle, strong and moist, slides in and out while he grasps her thighs.

There's still an aggressive brand of passion to his caresses and her reactions. Cullen's tongue fucks her with greed- hard, wet and noisy. Her pelvis presses up against his hold on her, her legs want to wind around his head and her whole body is straining to make him go deeper, faster.

Just when she's gotten used to the sensation, he withdraws. Torturous seconds pass before two fingers slide inside her. They stretch her further, are rougher, firmer. His pace is yet slow as the digits feel her out, and she squirms on them in a desperate attempt at finding release. Her head rolls back, and one arm covers her face, but it's yanked away. "Look at me."

He moves in but makes sure she's watching before tracing the length of a fold. A long, languid lick, so intense she can feel his taste buds. He does it again, and again, making her quiver a bit more each time.

His fingers increase their speed just as he laps at her button, evoking a hiss and an almost violent shudder. That infuriating smirk appears, and he keeps eye contact as he draws tight little circles around the engorged nub, going a fraction faster with each swivel.

The digits linger, searching for the place that will make her-

" _Ah_!"

She can _feel_ his grin around her, and it annoys her. The digits curl, and Trevelyan supresses the howl threatening to spill from her lips. It's a fleeting, vain effort. Her body is winning out over her stubbornness. The flush, the gooseflesh, the twitches betray her.

Cullen's only spurred on by her display. He nurses her nub, lightly bites it; mercilessly pumps in and out of her tight heat that's getting slicker and plumper by the minute.

Trevelyan's every nerve is on edge, her body a fraction of a touch away from completion.

And of course that's when he withdraws, leaving a chill where his mouth had been seconds ago, where she's swollen and soft.

Within an instant her mild annoyance becomes blazing fury as she's left panting, waiting, needing.

Cullen stands there and _smirks_. His cock is jutting up against his tight abdomen, a delicious invitation she manages to ignore when she hurls all her scorn at him in a single question.

"Are you going to fuck me or not, _Commander_?" The atmosphere between them has remained charged, but now it's gained a new tetchy spark.

Instead of answering he grasps her wrists, pulling her to stand up then flipping her around.

Trevelyan smiles to herself. She's always liked the brutish carnality of being taken _a tergo_. _And what better occasion for sticking her arse out at him?_

The tip of him brushes against her buttock in a light, teasing upstroke.

An unexpected brush of his baritone on her ear makes her jump as he responds to the already-forgotten question.

"Is that what you want, Lady Trevelyan? Have your commander fuck you?"

A palm on her lower back bids her to bend over. She stretches out across the desk, polished wood cooling her tingling nipples.

Trevelyan presses her backside against him, despite how needy it makes her look. She knows the sight of her damp folds drives him mad with lust. His breath hitches, and she wiggles a little more for good measure.

As he's about to speak there's a knock. Trevelyan freezes. A moment passes in uncertainty - _did either of them lock the doors?_

Another knock, but instead of answering she moans, loud and wanton as Cullen enters her in one fluid motion.

She vaguely registers his pleased chuckle at the hasty footfalls. His cock, fat and hard, stretches her, stirs that fire again. She grips the edge of the desk, braces herself as he begins thrusting into her, his girth a perfect fit for her slick depth.

She's given up her resistance, shows what he's doing to her through her mewls, her hisses. He responds in kind, groaning every time he fills her.

They may not be in the mood for talking much to each other, but their bodies do as they move in harmony; her hips swaying in time with his; the little squeaks at his occasional swats on her bum; her back arching into his touch; their moans singing a tuneless song as they find pleasure in each other even in anger.

Trevelyan isn't sure when her hair came undone, only notices when a hand wraps it loosely around the wrist and pulls her up. Stubborn resistance has lost out to carnal hunger, so she complies.

She knows he's close when his other palm slides up her stomach, cupping a breast before coming to rest against her chin. Cullen growls when she takes in his fingers, sucking as hard as she had on him.

When the moist digits settle on her centre, she lets go of all confusion, hurt and fury, surrenders to his touch, his love, to _him_.

It takes him but a few flicks until her thighs start trembling and her breathing stops for a second.

"Come for me, love. Let them hear it."

And she does.

A roar, loud and unmistakable in its nature, tears from her throat as she clenches, trembles, _feels_. Cullen joins her, groaning her name as he swells and spills inside her. Together they hold on, rocking each other through their high that transcends all disagreement and bitterness.

Then Cullen sinks into the wide chair, dragging her on to his lap. A bit of fumbling, and he drapes his fur mantle across her naked form.

Trevelyan nestles into the warm comfort of her man's chest. He's planting tiny kisses onto her hairline, and she inhales his scent that she'll never get enough of. The initial mind-numbing euphoria may be fading as the cool trickle of their pleasure seeps from her. But bliss buzzes in her chest, in her blush, in the small, sated smile.

Cullen opens his mouth, begins speaking, but she shushes him with a kiss. "Later," she mumbles before cuddling back against him.

They should talk, and they will. But for now it's silence, affection and nothing else.

 _Except…_

"What?" he inquires at her snigger.

She looks up. Cullen is flushed as she, his eyelids heavy, curls tousled, and she can't help the wide grin that spreads across her face.

"I'll have to make you angry again soon, Commander."


End file.
